The Night Of The Infinite Army
by T. S. Griffin
Summary: After Jim witnesses the bizarre murder of an old friend, he and Artemus investigate and discover a maniacal preacher, his zombie-like minions, and an infinite army, poised and ready to engulf the American Southwest and then the world. 60s TV series
1. Chapter 1

**1**

The sun had become crimson at the beginning of its' afternoon decent, casting an orange blanket upon the countryside. The spruce trees that outlined the road to the Scranton Estate along with its structures; the stables, workhouse, barn and residence with their red paint seemed to be on fire from the sky's hue and it made the mild spring temperature feel at least twenty degrees warmer. The farm hands were well tired from the long days endeavors but were relieved in knowing that they would be finishing shortly and within the hour their day would be over. A slight breeze from the north forced the grasses and branches its way while sending a refreshing respite from the dry Colorado air and with it a small sense of peace to the farmsteads' owner. Major Miles Scranton U. S. Army Ret. stood on the bedroom balcony surveying the land. The serene scene that had unfolded before him helped to ease his mind, also knowing that James West, an Army colleague and friend, would be arriving soon, aided in lifting the worry that was overtaking him. The Major put aside the urgency he asked Jim to help him with; the Major had not seen his friend in years and it felt good to be seeing him again. The Major pulled his evening coat over his barreled chest as he exited the bedroom and started to descend the staircase recalling the last time he and West was together; New Orleans, three years after the War, they had ran into each other, found a saloon, and drank themselves into a stupor. West could not believe that Scranton had wanted to retire and become a farmer. "Retire!?! Losing a talented officer such as you will leave the Army without claws," West was to say.

"Miles dear," The Major was upsettingly pulled from the past and placed into the present, "Are you certain that you want to visit your company in that dusty ol' library?" Elva, his wife of six months asked.

"Why not?" the Major inquired as they stepped into the room.

With a wave of her hand to ward off the dust, she answered with a little cough, "I know how cautious you've been lately, and rightfully so, but it is such a wonderful day. You should consider entertaining outside."

The Major grunted.

"I have already made lemonade and…" she moved toward him, realizing the pressure and tension the Major was experiencing, Elva cradled his hardened face in her hands and continued, "…everything's going to be alright."

The Major explained, "Darling, what I have to lose is so much greater than myself, my land, or my money…"

Elva's assuring expression changed to curiosity as the Major went on, "During the war, I had very little to lose. No home, roots…" He pressed her hands with his and locked his gaze into her eyes, "…now I have you. 'The greatest and most precious piece of my life."

Without blinking, Elva gently swept some of the Majors' graying locks from his brow, and reassuringly told him, "You will always have me."

Elva pinched his lips into a pucker and kissed him, afterward she broke away and with a wink, said, "If you insist on remaining here in this dustbowl of a library, do not waste this beautiful day…" she motioned toward the wall, "… you can at least open the curtains for some light and a window, or door to ventilate some of this stale air while I fetch the refreshments."

The Major wryly smiled, clicked his heels and with a salute declared, "Yes, Ma'am."

The glow from outside did resurrect the room as the curtains were opened, revealed was the rich earthly colors of the furniture. The affect of the rug and its intricate design carried warmth and energy, revitalizing the dark and dreary room as the Major opened the tall patio doors letting the outside cascade in.

It had been a wearing four months since he had started receiving the disturbing letters, and he hadn't stepped outside for weeks. He stood at the opening; feeling the warmth of the sun, it surprisingly relaxed him. And while he was absorbing the calm of the moment he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath to enjoy the refreshing air.

A shadow slowly descended over his face. He felt the gentle wind caressing his skin, moving about his tousled hair. The shadow grew ever darker and he opened his eyes only to see blackness. The Major tried taking a gulp of air, his gasp cut short by tiny hooks and needles filling his mouth. Not understanding what was happening, panic swept over him, lightning shot across his eyes and his skin screamed as waves of burning barbs washed over his head. Scranton clawed at the entity that had swallowed him only to realize that his attempt was futile, scalding pain was the only thing his hands could come away with. The shadow was alive and unrelenting.

**********

Elva was on her way back to the library when there was a knock at the front door. She was somewhat befuddled; as she wanted to answer the door but had both hands occupied with the tray of refreshments. There was another knock; Elva placed the tray on a side table, and was able to reach the door before the third knock was delivered.

James West' smile broadened even more as Elva's beauty took him by surprise, to the point of almost stammering, "Good afternoon, is the lady of the house in?"

Elva flashed a smile and answered, "I am the lady of the house, Mr...."

"West… James West." He added to her sentence while removing his hat.

After exchanging pleasantries, Elva retrieved the tray and started to escort West to the library. Elva continued their conversation as they walked, "We are so glad you could call on such short notice."

West almost forgot to respond because he was still taking her in. She had marvelous hair; the color was a rich auburn and even with it pulled up, it ebbed and flowed with her every move; her face seemed to shine from the inside out, with eyes of such a deep and brilliant blue that, West felt a man could get lost in them and never come back. Her shoulders fell beautifully into the ruffles of her dress, which captured the exquisiteness of her figure. West noticed the she seemed to effortlessly float as she walked, graceful and confident.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he answered, "the Major is a fine man and a good friend."

West reached around Elva, to get the library door since she was still toting the tray. With a 'thank you' nod, the delightful Elva preceded West into the room. There was a tremendous crash as the tray belonging the refreshments and goblets tumbled to the floor. West darted passed the horrified Elva, her hands to her mouth to cover a shriek that could not come, and a cold shudder ran through his body. In the middle of the library floor, convulsing in the light of the setting sun, laid the Major. West recognized the bulky, barrel-chested form of his friend; it was his face he could not see. It had been replaced with a gruesome, living shroud of insects. Disbelieving, West adjusted his eyes only to come to the horrifying reality that the mask was a churning and garish swarm. From the open doors came a steady flood of creatures, mostly flying, but also hopping, scurrying, and crawling upon the Majors' face and upper torso. A mountain of wasps, yellow jackets and bees in a violent, frenzied attack replaced the Majors' upper body. A veil of living death and the buzzing from their wings had the sound of fury. James West could swear that the insects were screaming.

**2**

It had been hours since the horrific and bizarre incident that left Miles Scranton precariously hanging on to life, struggling for air through constant, excruciating pain; battling to breathe while thousands of stings and insect bites continued to poison and swell his face, mouth, and throat. The Majors' appearance changed dramatically, the pressure from the distension, stretched the once leathery wrinkled face, neck, and hands into surreal, shimmering balloons, glistening from a mixture of sweat, venom, and watery discharge. His complexion a mixture of purple, blue, and green hues, covered most of his face and hands. Scranton was rushed to his room with cold compresses applied to his injured areas. The doctor from down the way was sent for, only after West, with some farmhands who were alerted by Elva's screams, tried removing the mass of insects but to no avail. Armed merely with curtains torn from their posts, West and the other rescuers had attempted to strip off the possessed wasps, hornets, bees, and other insects that had joined in the attack. Ants and spiders were also among the masses of insects removed, only to return and continue their frenzied assault. Buckets of water had finally been used to wash and strip away the majority of the insects long enough to spirit the Major to safety.

Downstairs in the living room, West along with the others who had tried so feverishly to save the Major was getting their wounds tended to by the house staff. Most of West's stings were on his hands; some more dotted his face and neck. Immense pain shot through his hands even though heaps of ointment and salve was being applied. He had never felt so toxic; over the years he had been subjected to a wide variety of drugs; by injection, gassing, and by the occasional 'mickey' slipped into a drink, and had never experienced illness at this level. He could not believe that the Major was still alive. West was nauseous and exhausted; after his bandaging was finished he slumped into his chair. So many thoughts were racing around his head and he couldn't concentrate due to the pain and dizziness from the insects' venom. The beating of wings and the struggled gasps of the Major haunted him. Wests' hands pounded against the tautness of the bandages, the immense burning and pain subsided somewhat and West concluded that he was probably experiencing so much pain that his body must have momentarily shut down, it would only be a brief mechanism of his system, so he figured he'd better try to wrap his brain around what had just happened before the pain returned.

Three days ago, West had received an urgent telegram from an old friend and fellow army officer; Major Miles Scranton; now husband and farmer. The Major had pleaded for assistance. Not only was his life in danger but also that of his beautiful bride's. With the telegram was a package containing seven letters the Major had been receiving the four months prior. Each note contained a threat to his life plus details of his daily routines and that of his wife's as well. West knew that if a man as capable as the Major had asked for his help the situation must be dire. So, being granted a furlough, West had the train re-tracked and left from San Francisco only to arrive, it seemed, a moment too late.

West had to steady himself, for the pain was returning. His fingers felt as if they were searing on hot coals while sharp flashes of fire shot through his palms and up his forearms. Biting his lip he closed his eyes to try and stable himself and ward off the pain, before he knew it he was fast asleep.

*********

When West had awakened he found himself in bed and not in the Scranton living room, with a glance out the window, not at the same time either. The room was dark and West wondered how long had he been unconscious. Was it the same night or did he sleep through a day, maybe more? The pain buzzing around his head and hands had to wait; he needed to gather his bearings first before he could let that distract him. He slowly rose from the bed and noticed that he had no clothes on, save underwear. Jim sat on the edge of the bed and adjusted his eyes to the dark; Jim started to realize that he was not at the Scranton farm at all, and it smelled like a stable for a brief moment until he became aware of how much he had perspired; he smelled and the bed sheets was soaked with sweat. West found a robe draped over the brass footwork of the bed and slipped it on while shutting the window. Looking outside, it appeared to be the main street of a town; horses were posted along the buildings, people moving to and fro, and the sounds of a saloon piano and people in song was lofting from down the way. West' attention was grabbed when he heard a noise and saw light peeking from under the door to an adjoining room. West took a quick glance around the area searching for a weapon only to find a vase with some two-week-old posies in it. With his hands injured and his gun nowhere in sight, West wasn't going to take any chances. He grabbed the vase and slowly turned the doorknob. Easing the door a crack he peered into the other room. Not being able to make anything out he decided to attack first and ask questions later. West flung the door wide with vase held high ready to strike as he entered the room.

"Flowers, for me James…" Artemus flung at West, "…you shouldn't have."

West breathed a sigh of relief, "Artie, I'm glad it's you."

"James my boy, it is I who should be relieved," West' partner continued, "I thought you might be pushin' up daisies instead of threatening me with them."

Artie opened the table by pushing a chair out for West and motioned for him to have a seat, the table housed the letters, a map and a pencil.

"How long was I…?" Jim asked not really wanting to hear the answer.

"Out?" Artie finished Jim's question, "Two days. I had you brought here, I felt that caution was in order and I wanted to make sure you were safe, instead of staying in a possible vipers' den."

West turned a brow.

"Take a look at the envelopes Jim," Artie went on, dismissing West' reaction to his comment, "the first few have post marks, and the remaining four do not."

"Artemus, show me something I haven't noticed already," West said setting down the vase and pulling up the chair to hear what Artie had deduced.

Artemus started opening the letters and displaying them on the table, "The letter writer is very meticulous; look, each and every word the exact same size, also the placement, spacing and format of all the letters are the same."

Jim acknowledged what Artie was saying, "And…"

Picking up his 'cue' Artie presented one of the letters to Jim, " The content is almost like a sermon, take this line for instance: The plague will swallow your body and soul, given the sins you have bestowed upon your brethren."

West studied the script, Artie displayed the envelopes around the table, and followed it up by, "The letters were sent from different towns but all are basically in the same general area in the region. Jim, if the writer is this narrow and compulsive, he might have written and mailed them at the same time each day."

West started to understand where his partner was going and moved the map toward Artemus to carry on with the thought.

"Lets assume that our writer does mail his letters at the same time everyday, say one o'clock," Artie grabbed a pencil and started doing calculations on the map, " Which town does he leave from in order to send his letter by the required time?"

Artie continued scribbling on the map and taking measurements, after a few moments he concluded circling a small area on the map, "There's your mystery writer's whereabouts."

Jim interjected, "Artie that's a stretch, what if he had them delivered, it could be any of those towns." Jim continued, "What of the letters that had no post marks?"

"He either had someone bring the letters or he left them off himself." Artie answered.

"Or…" West said, stepping from the table and over to his belongings.

Artie had folded Jim's clothes and set them on a chest of drawers, along with his hat and gun belt.

Jim began dressing and concluded, "…or the writer was there already. It's possible that the writer could be any one of the Major's farm hands."

With that, West recalling the Major asked, "Artie did the Major… how long?"

Artemus grew somber, "He passed a few hours after the attack Jim."

West stood still for a moment absorbing the bad news; he then pulled himself together, slipped on his boots, clamped on his gun belt, and whisked out his revolver, flipping open the chamber to check if it was fully loaded, he asked, "What time is it Artie?"

Looking at his pocket watch Gordon answered, "Almost ten thirty."

West put on his hat and made his way to the door, turning to Artemus, "I think its time for some answers. You coming?"

**3**

West and Gordon arrived at the Scranton farm a little before midnight; both men having doubts about the innocence of the Major and Elva's house staff. The home had been cheery and bright in the daytime but it seemed sinister and unsettling at night. West shook off the feeling, telling himself that it was the circumstances and the night chill creating his reaction. When they reached the house the duo dismounted and tethered their horses to the porch banister.

Again, Artie asked, "Are you sure that you want to disturb the widow at this late hour?"

"I want to rattle whomever our assassin might be and disturbing their sleep will give us the edge with our questioning." West explained as they approached the door.

West had rapped on the door and when there was no answer, he and Gordon silently agreed that something was amiss. Finding the door locked, Gordon produced a long, flat, notched metal file from his jacket pocket and started to pursue entry. As Artie went to work with his picklock, Jim tried the nearest windows to see if they were unlatched. A few moments passed and Artie disabled the lock and opened the door a crack, "Jim…" he called out in a whisper. He called for Jim a second time. Glancing around and not finding West, Artie deduced that Jim must have circled the house to find another way in. Just then a set of fingers slipped eerily from behind the door startling Artie. He straightened from his crouch and started to scramble for a justification about his being there at such an hour as the door slowly inched open. A million excuses flooded Artie's mind but they seemed to quickly fade as he unnervingly tried to retain one. The door was suddenly pulled back revealing West inside flashing an obnoxious smile, "An open servant's window," he answered, knowing what Artie's upcoming question was to be.

"I want a new partner," he hissed at West.

West stepped aside and let his relieved, yet irritated friend pass, "The servant's rooms are empty, I haven't checked the upstairs."

As they approached the stairs Artie stopped West, "Shouldn't we examine the murder scene?"

West silently agreed and they entered the library, closing the door behind them. Jim lit a match and then used it to find and light some lamps nearby. Jim gave Artie a brief account of what he had experienced, where the victim lay and where he and Elva were as they entered the room. Artie scanned the area as West exited the library via the patio doors and stepped outside. Jim extended his lamp above his head to gaze upon the roof; only wooden tiles stared back at him. He thought he saw something from the corner of his eye and slowly and inconspicuously scanned the area but was interrupted by Artie calling for him, "Jim," he motioned for West, "help me with this armoire."

Artie had set his lamp on the floor and took up a side to move. The men slid the piece forward.

"What do we have here?" asked Gordon as he got on his hands and knees, bringing his lamp to illuminate what he had found.

Near the floorboard was a small pile of insects, apparently dead.

"Interesting," West commented as Artie separated the pile with his picklock.

"What is it Jim?"

West picked up a piece of glass from the middle of the scattered insects.

The light from the lamps made the shard glint and shimmer, West answered, "It's from one of the goblets Elva was carrying when we found the Major," he swept the floor with his eyes, "it must have been missed during the clean up."

"Why the bugs?" Artie wondered aloud, not realizing he had his makeshift insect remover resting in the corner of his mouth.

Artie gave a little spat on discovering that he had the picklock used to move the dead insects resting on his lip as West answered, "Maybe Elva should answer that, Artie."

West slipped the glass in to his jacket pocket, becoming evermore concerned of the mysterious questions popping up, like; how can wasps and bees be turned into a murder weapon; why would it be used to kill Scranton; and the worst question of all, to what extent could this weapon be exploited.

With their lamps in hand West and Gordon left the library and ascended to the second floor. Finding the master bedroom, both men slipped quietly inside hoping to find Elva and some answers for those questions.

The moonlight shone through the shears and glass doors of the bedroom balcony, which gave the space an eerie and unsettling atmosphere. There was iciness to the air and it felt as if every article in the room was frozen. On the bed was the distinct shape of a woman lying on her side, under the covers, facing West and Gordon; the moonlight from behind cast a shadow over her face and across the blankets. Unable to see the woman's face both men leveled their lamps as they made their way to the edge of the bed.

"It's not her," said West, "it's not Elva."

"Your right," Gordon affirmed. He had met Elva Scranton when gathering West almost three days earlier, "I distinctly remember the hair to be lighter on Mrs. Scranton."

Jim agreed as he finally recognized her, "She was one of the servants who helped tend to my stings after the attack, Artie."

"Did you get her name?" asked Artie.

"There was too much confusion and panic going on," West answered.

Artie reached for the carotid artery along the young girls neck, he shook his head to West, confirming what both men already knew, she was dead.

**********

As West and Gordon were upstairs trying to comprehend the events of late, shadows moved in the stillness of the rooms below. Two men were pouring kerosene around the first floor, moving silently while strategically dumping the flammable liquid to and fro. Across entryways and window curtains. With wide splashes placed over the walls, and zigzags throughout the hallways. They had already prepared the outside of the house while watching West and Gordon's every move inside, after igniting the outside fuel, they then enclosed themselves within the burning house, and pressed on with their suicidal mission.

********

The clock at the top the stairs struck its first chime to announce midnight, startled, West and Gordon went for their guns. They had stopped drawing their pistols by the second chime, having recognized what had pierced the stillness. Just then Artie raised his nose and took a sniff from the air, not truly believing what he thought he smelled, he asked his partner, "What's that smell?"

Jim caught a whiff, the odor was distinctive and West recognized the tang, "Kerosene…" he paused a brief moment then continued his observation, "…and smoke."

**4**

Both Gordon and West knew that they had just walked into a trap, but they had faced situations like this before, each of them knowing and respecting the others abilities during dire circumstances. West had an inert sense of survival and a perception that there is always a way to escape; wrapping himself a cold, sharp, and resolute cloak of stone while his reflexes and movements become direct and focused; his senses heighten, taking all in.

Gordon being just as alert and conscious as West, yet his nature is to overcome adverse situations with wit and humor, "And me without marshmallows."

West started toward the balcony but stopped when he saw flames licking the sky outside, "Has to be another way out," he stated to Artie as he headed for the bedroom door.

Two bullets punched the door and archway, sending splinters into West' cheek, he spun backward into the wall while withdrawing and cocking the hammer of his revolver with a single, fluid motion.

"You gotta be kidding," Artie asked in disbelief, "They're inside the burning building with us?"

"Apparently killing us by fire isn't good enough, Artie," West answered, "Whoever it is wants to shoot us as well."

"Great." said Gordon sarcastically as he un-holstered his gun and took position opposite West on the other side of the doorway.

Peeking out, West noticed how illuminated the downstairs was. He figured that the light was from the fire outside but it would not remain outside for long. From behind the curtained entrance to the living room appeared a gunman who let loose another shot that made West pull back.

"We're pinned in," Jim informed his partner, "and with his vantage point we don't have any cover."

Artie set his gun back in its holster and grabbed the lamps, "Since the house is already alight, how about fighting fire with fire," Artie turned to Jim, "how's your gun hand?"

Jim readied himself as Artie stepped alongside the doorway and threw the first lamp, arcing it high and far giving him a brief moment to release the second lamp a split second behind the first. Before the lanterns reached the floor, West, almost effortlessly, shot both and a blast of flame and glass scattered across the foyer. Simultaneously Gordon, with West close behind, had started to make their way to the adjacent room. As they ran the entire ground floor erupted with an immense flash. The fireballs created from West and Gordon's makeshift cover ignited the kerosene that had already been distributed throughout the ground floor. Caught off guard by the surge of light and heat, Artie and Jim bounced off the wall, half-falling-half-diving into the other room, ending up in the den.

Embers spun in frantic circles and intensified within the room. West and Gordon started to have difficulty breathing as smoke and soot eked from the corners, fissures and cracks rapidly overtaking the space. West opened the nearest window and had to catch his balance as the structure suddenly shifted and the floor began to seethe flame and ash, like a topsy-turvy sifter.

Staying low Artie peered around the doorway and even with his eyes tearing and burning, he could make out the image of two figures within the flames. A couple of more rounds shattered the still chiming clock that sat along the upstairs wall.

"They're still with us, Jim."

West looked out the window and saw the fire climbing up the wall, the blaze making the area outside glow with a dancing brilliance, illuminating the barn across the way. West reached into his jacket pocket revealing two pitons, he inserted one into the barrel of his .45 and from under his vest he pulled a cord, which he then fastened to the spike at the end of his gun. West reached from the opened window and discharged his weapon sending the strung spear well into the wall of the barn. Without thought he spun around, already having the second piton in firing position, West sent this one into one of the ceiling braces. Leaping onto a loveseat West retrieved the remainder of the cord and as smoke engulfed his arms and hands he secured the line to the piton lodged in the ceiling. The loveseat under West gave a bit as the floor dipped again as the fire continued to destroy it from below.

"We have to go, Artie." Jim barked.

Artemus fired a couple rounds down the stairwell and turned to West in amazement, "You're not going to believe this…" he said, "…they're advancing through the flames, Jim they're on fire!"

Artie made his way through the rising rush of heat and flame grabbing the zip line apparatus that West had waiting for him. Gordon then crashed through the remainder of the window, skimming on the line to the barn, hitting it with a thud.

West unclipped his gun belt and tossed one end over the line, just as he started to follow his friend to safety one of the assassins came around the doorway with gun in hand.

West was caught off guard and was frozen, getting a good look at his attacker; Artemus was right, the man was on fire. Most of his clothes had fallen away and a great percentage of his body was scorched; West could see waves of heat coming off the assassins body and his eye's shone brilliantly against the blackness of his charred skin. Expressionless, the man raised his revolver targeting West and had started to pull the trigger when the floor gave way. West leapt for the window as the floor fell, the killer disappeared into the inferno below.

West had made it out and was halfway down when the support beams gave way as the house began collapsing into itself, snapping the zip line and sending him crashing to the earth. He hit the ground hard but managed to roll with his momentum, coming to rest next to Artie who was rubbing the shoulder that had taken the brunt of his collision with the barn wall at the end of his descent.

"I didn't think you was coming out," Artie said.

Coughing, Jim responded, "For a second there, neither did I."

Both men sat against the barn watching in awe at the gigantic blaze before them, the raging firestorm with its trails of thick, black smoke billowing into the night sky, taking with it any clue to the mystery. At that moment all they could really do was to watch, while the inferno consumed what was left of the Scranton farmhouse.

* *******

From atop a hill overlooking the Scranton spread, Elva sat on horseback observing the devastation below. She had watched as her two colleagues prepared and set her home on fire. She had heard the gunshots as the blaze grew. She could still see the barn's roof over the flames and smoke. She could make out the figures of West and Gordon and was disappointed that their demise was not forthcoming. Realizing that her companions would not be joining her and not knowing whom else might be showing up to investigate the fire, Elva pulled the hood of her cape over her head and kick started her horse, disappearing into the night's darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**5**

It was shortly before dawn when West and Gordon made it back to Grundy; the small town Artie had brought West to recuperate from the insect attack; only after searching through the ruins of what was left of the Scranton farmhouse and coming away empty-handed; only finding more questions.

Gordon proceeded to the hotel to retrieve their belongings while West found the town's telegraph office and sent word to Tennyson, their manservant, that they would be returning to the train, - which was side-railed at the Denver station. His message consisted of having fresh clothing and hot baths waiting for them upon arrival that afternoon. West had also added that Tennyson and the train crew should be on guard, to activate the trains' defensive measures, and most importantly, to contact the bureau and request for someone with knowledge of insects-mainly bees- to be sent out.

Then West and Gordon convened at the sheriff's office, identifying themselves as Secret Service operatives and reported the events of the past three days. In questioning, the sheriff did not have anything good in the way of answers. There had been no unusual strangers pass through town and, "Come to think of it," the sheriff had added, "I've never had met Mrs. Scranton." Apparently only the Major or the farm hands had come into Grundy for supplies and there was 'no accountin'- the rotund sheriff had explained- for 'bein' up thar' because there, 'just wasn't any problems at the Scranton farm.'

It had been a mad three days and West felt that the worse was yet to come. The discussion during their ride back to the train leaped back and forth, each man intently listening to the other; examining each piece of the facts and placing them against every theory, hypothesis, and off the wall idea they could imagine.

The long ride to the Wanderer-the name bestowed upon their private train- depleted West and Gordon. They had become weary examining the strange happenings of past seventy-two hours and the only conclusions they could come up with was; first, that someone had discovered how to use insects; flying and stinging insects, as a murder weapon. Second, Miles Scranton was murdered with this incredible weapon, and third; Elva Scranton, with at least two accomplices, are involved, evidenced by the attempt to kill Gordon and West at the Scranton farm while trying to pass off a murdered servant as Elva Scranton, whose charred remains were to be discovered in the fire.

That is how it was supposed to be, the agents had deduced that they had stumbled in the middle of the cover up, with the arsonists' deciding that West and Gordon could be dealt with also. Gordon pointed out that it had almost worked and West kicked himself for not being as cautious as he should have been; his judgment skewed because of his closeness to the murder victim.

They also had no clue to who Elva Scranton is or where she came from; it would be useless to dig for any information about her without her maiden name. West was feeling more and more incensed as less and less of the pieces fit, while Gordon was intrigued, wanting to discover the mind behind such a vile yet interesting weapon.

**6**

The blue mist slowly worked its way down the rolling hills east of the Shoshone Indian village, carried by the light morning breeze. The small village consisted of a dozen teepees, a corral, and a few tents stationed next to the river; used as coverage while doing their duties from the blistering Nevada sun. The fog started weaving its way through their crops, creeping further and further toward the village. Almost lifelike, the blue cloud began to consume the empty spaces between the dwellings, filling every nook and cranny.

The horses in the corral neighed their disapproval and growing evermore impatient as the fog drew nearer, dogs ran from their homes, barking and confused, periodically looking back to check on the mists progress.

**********

Tumbleweeds bounced along the dirt street, over the mud-hardened wagon tracks that cut through town. The buildings, unkempt and looked as if a good wind would topple them over. Their paint was dry, cracked, and peeling, exposed was the yellowing, weather-abused wood underneath. A few horses, posted in front of the saloon, stood restlessly, pulling back their heads and testing their tethers, unnerved by their riders shouts of disappointment seeing that the saloon was closed.

"What the…?" Snakes Barton yelled, "Closed?! Waddya mean closed?" 'Snakes' was the name given to him for three reasons; he was cold-blooded, as fast as a rattler, and…

"It is Sunday mornin', Snakes." Young Robert Cage matter-of-factly answered. Robert was beat from the night's ride and was about to suggest finding a place to sleep when he discovered the third reason for Snakes' name; he had a venomous temper.

Frank Cage, Robert's older brother knew what was going to happen next; Snakes was going to blow his top. But before Frank could reach his partners, Snakes had all ready lashed out, slapping Robert across the jaw, "Shut yer pie-hole," Snakes spat, " I don't give a damn what day it is, I'm gonna have a drink."

Robert faced Snakes with one hand covering his chin, the other over his revolver, fed up with the abuse dished out by Snakes.

Snakes confronted the boy, "I'd rather drink than have a funeral this mornin'."

Robert knew how fast Snakes was concerning gun play, which made him hesitate just long enough for Frank to intervene, "It's been a long night Snakes," he placed a hand on his brothers shoulder, Frank knew how to handle his hot tempered colleague, "Lets find out what this rat-hole town has to offer before we do any killin'," he inched his way between the killer and his brother, "No use havin' to run off after ridin' all night."

Snakes snapped back, waving his arm as if displaying the town, "There ain't no Sheriff's office or telegraph office; no one is gonna run us outta town…"

Snakes wrapped an arm around the brothers and the trio started down the boardwalk; he looked at both brothers and stated, "Now lets find that church goin' bartender, shall we?"

**********

As the mist entered the village, the horses, now terrified, became unconcerned with their enclosure and started stampeding, frantically forcing their way through the fences to escape the cloud. Their clatter had awoken the people who emerged from their homes, unaware of the events unfolding outside. On discovering the blue mist, most were bewildered and continued rubbing their eyes long after the sleep was gone, some could hear a slight humming in the distance, while others ran to where the corral had once been, unsure of what could have frightened the horses to such an extent.

The people started milling together, wondering aloud about the scene before them.

**********

The Cage brothers and Snakes had made their way down the boardwalk to the edge of town. Every business was closed and the only life on the street was a mutty looking dog, playing with a hen, chasing it to and fro.

Snakes unholstered his revolver and took a bead on the dog, "Maybe this'll wake someone up."

"Wait," Frank waved Snakes down and continued with an ear to the air, "You hear that?"

Robert and Snakes followed Frank's example and lifted their heads, "Yeah," Robert chimed in, "sounds like singin'."

Across the way, atop a slight hill, with no other structures near, stood the church. Melodic reverberation was wafting from within its walls, full and rich with sound but oddly cold.

The trio crossed the open square and by the time they reached the church doors the hymn was over and the sermon was beginning. The cowboys stopped to listen.

**********

The haze now encompassed the village and every bit of space was covered as well as its inhabitants. The clan was interrogating the Chief, but he could not find an answer to the mysterious mist and looked to his Shaman hoping he would know.

Before the Chief could confer with the older medicine man he felt his pant legs come alive as dozens of insects stormed their way up his legs; ants and spiders, normally enemies now allies, pinched and bit his skin. He looked up and saw with astonishment that he was not the only one being attacked, screams came from his people as they tried beating the insects from their limbs. It was worse for the people that had fallen to the ground for the insects had access to the rest of their bodies to continue the assault.

**********

Snakes reholstered his weapon as the sermon inside the church began.

"When the Lord, your God, brings you into the land which you are to enter and occupy, and dislodges great nations before you," the voice was strangely menacing, "the Hittites, Girgashites, Amorites, Canaanites, Perizzites, Hivites, and Jebusities: seven nations more numerous and powerful than you…"

Snakes elbowed Frank saying, "Can you believe this load?" Snakes threw open the doors and sauntered inside, the Cage brothers followed behind.

**********

The Shoshone Chief, himself in unbearable pain, called for his people to head for the river. Young helped the old; women grabbed their children and everyone raced for the water, but was stopped by a cloud of flying death that approached from the rivers direction. The swarm of hornets, and bees descended upon the Indians, launching a furious attack, preventing any effort the people had in freeing themselves from the insect army. Havoc ensued as one by one the villagers fell, writhing and rolling on the ground as the killing swarm engulfed their bodies, with every venomous sting and bite stealing their strength, sanity, and ultimately their lives.

**********

"What do we have here?" guffawed Snakes as he made his way down the middle of the congregation.

The inside of the church mirrored the dilapidated face of the town outside. The gritty interior housed beaten pews and the windows were so dirt covered that the little light that shone through met with swirls of rising dust, creating a surreal stillness. The parishioners, twenty-five or so, men and women barely acknowledged Snakes interruption, not by gasps or words of condemnation, but by listless glances.

Snakes continued his trek to the front of the congregation, stopping near a male worshipper, looking the man up and down, Snakes pointed out, "You people are about as alive as your town," as he backhanded the man. Snakes did not notice the docile reaction of the slapped man and pressed on with his clamor, "It's time to wake up and live around here," now at the alter he turned to face the parishioners, "You can start by makin' us breakfast an' openin' the saloon for some drink."

"Pardon me," a voice came from behind Snakes.

Snakes turned to confront the interrupter only to be taken back by his appearance.

The minister was a head taller than Snakes, but much thinner; his eyes set in the dark hollows of his grizzled face. The grayish tint to his skin reinforced the deep fissures that cris-crossed his face, ever-hardening his features. Silver strands of hair hung from his balding head, draping the shoulders and back of his black jacket giving the illusion that his head was somehow floating. His dark, unmoving eyes burned a hole through Snakes as if they could read his soul.

"Happy is the man whose mouth brings him no grief…" the Preacher rasped, "…who is not stung by remorse for sin."

"What the…?" obviously shaken, Snakes tried to regain his composure and position, "I'll be a happy man…" he continued while nonchalantly waving his gun toward the congregation, "…happy, Padre, when I get a drink, so dismiss everyone already."

Frank and Robert spun around as the light from the entrance disappeared as two men of the congregation, unnoticed, had closed and bolted the doors.

A slight hum overtook the parish and it took the gunmen a few seconds to realize that it was not the parishioners making the sound, but that it was coming from above. The men adjusted their vision, trying to focus on the immense shadow pulsating amidst the dark rafters. The Cage brothers' unable to move their gaze from the gigantic hornet nest, had slowly started their retreat and was stopped short by the men that had closed the doors. Both had reached for their pistols only to find their holsters empty; two worshippers emerged from their seats brandishing the stolen guns at the stunned men.

Snakes, not knowing how to react, spun in circles, struggling to determine his greatest threat he continued training his gun on whomever crossed his vision.

"You," the preacher directed toward Snakes, "You are the undeniable evidence of the sweeping sin," he drew nearer, "the irrefutable truth," one by one, hornets began diving and buzzing closer and closer to Snakes.

"S-stop where you are, preacher!" he leveled his revolver in front of the preacher's face.

"BE SILENT!" returned the preacher, the hornets humming grew as if they felt his fury. Thin sweat-like ooze was coming from the preacher's brow, running into the cracks of his face and he continued his speech, spit and sweat flying from his lips, "The irrefutable certainty that we chosen few must rise," the hornets increased in gathering across his face as he spoke.

The sweat emitted from the preachers rant had landed upon Snakes hand; the hornets viciously attacked it, causing Snakes to recoil and drop his gun from the pain.

The preacher stood above the now cowering Snakes and looked toward his two companions, "Rise above the sinners," hornets about his neck and face, raging, "and deliver to this world; PENANCE!" The preacher reached at his face, swirling his hand to gather the most of his perspiration and heaped it upon Snakes face. In a heartbeat his head was covered, his screams muffled by the insects filling his mouth, and after clawing at his face for what seemed an eternity, Snakes Barton slumped to the dusty floor.

**7**

Upon their return to the train, Tennyson, and the Wanderers crew consisting of the Engineer, the Fireman and the Brakeman met West and Gordon, who retrieved their horses and started loading them in the Stable car. Tennyson gathered Jim and Artie's hats and belongings and updated the exhausted duo while entering the last car, which functioned as their office and dining quarters, "Sirs, I have two hot baths awaiting you," he continued as West and Gordon, seemingly inattentive, piled their clothes and belongings into his arms, "A Doctor Welling will soon be calling, as per your request." Tennyson, who, with a shudder from handling such repugnant attire, inquired further, "Should I distribute evening wear, Sirs?"

"Yes, thank you Tennyson." West answered, lighting a cigar while lowering himself into his tub. The hot water along with the confection of spring soap and dandelion wine enlivened his skin and started to relax his tired and abused muscles.

Artemus, groaned with immense relief as he entered his tub stating, "I am dirty upon dirty and as 'My Great-Aunt Maude always used to say-One way to heaven-on-earth is surely through a proper bath.'" Stopping the manservant from leaving the car Gordon acknowledged him with a smile, "Tennyson, many thanks as always."

Gordon had never understood Jim's attitude toward Tennyson but suspected that Jim was afraid to get close to anybody for fear that he would not be able to do his job effectively if he had to worry about constantly protecting those around him. Gordon settled in and let the steaming water open his pours, letting the soap dissolve the grit from his body. He also considered the fact that West had just lost another friend, again. Gordon tried counting how many unnecessary losses they both had experienced; it was too many to remember. He abandoned the thought and began scrubbing the grime from his body.

West was deep in analysis, while stripping the dirt from his back using a long handled brush, couldn't help focusing on why the Major was murdered. He felt that if he knew the answer to that question all of the other holes would be filled, or at least he would have something solid to go on. He drew a puff from his cigar and reached over to the desk flipping a secret switch on a set of books revealing the telegraph.

"Who are you contacting?" asked Gordon.

West answered while tapping out his message, "The bureau, I'm requesting a Telefile on Scranton."

After he was finished West housed the telegraph, dipped his head into the water, then rested on the edge of the tub, putting the investigating aside for the moment.

* *******

Dr. T. S. Welling, on the last and at least to her, the most important day of the North American Entomology Conference, was highly disappointed that she had been basically ordered to leave the seminar at its most interesting segment; the mating rites of the Stagmomantis Carolina, the Carolina Mantis. Mainly she wanted to hear the newest theories regarding the mantis' cannibalistic behavior during reproduction. With the help of a doorman, Dr. Welling left the theatre that housed this year's convention, and was obviously put out by the message she had received before the last presentation.

Some of her charts and supplies slipped from her hands and scattered in the doorway. She groaned 'Just one more thing to go wrong today' and with that thought she then pored over her day so far; this morning the restaurant served her a Denver Omelet instead of the omelet she had ordered, the delay cost her a good seat at the seminar. The only available seat was next to Dr. Cartland who does not appreciate bathing as much as the unfortunate people around him, he was more offensive than the last time she had seen him. Now, he had just returned from a two-month arachnid study in the Amazon basin; the thought of Dr. Cartland's present odor made Dr. Welling's stomach turn and she decidedly continued her day's recall. She was lucky enough to acquire a new seat after the intermission and was growing evermore elated for the upcoming presentation, that is until she received word from her superior, Mr. Hendricks, insisting she meet with a Mr. West and a Mr. Gordon at the request of a Col. Richmond a senior officer in the Secret Service. Mr., Mr., Mr.

A male dominated world, at times she felt trapped by her intellect and curiosity; in regard to her scientific colleagues, most of whom she felt, did not take her seriously and were obviously threatened by someone not of their gender with half a brain.

She replaced her glasses upon her face as with the charts falling they had been pushed askew; she and the doorman gathered the last of her belongings. Dr. Welling was trying to remain oblivious to the doorman's reaction to her beauty; her rich and deep brown eyes struggled to hide behind her glasses, a faint mole rested between her faintly upturned nose and her full lips, accentuated due to her slight overbite.

She, graciously as she could, thanked him and headed for the street, fighting to maintain her charts as her boot heels clacked on the sidewalk.

Insects had always fascinated her, how they are immersed in a totally different social plane; the female is dominant in most insect species; insect females are the larger and stronger, as opposed to the diminutive male, baring the responsibility of being impregnated and ensuring the propagation of the species. She pondered on how different the world would be if humans had the same social and class behavior of insects. How would conflict be handled? What would the leadership of nations look like?

Dr. Welling pulled herself from thought and hailed a taxi. The driver asked for her destination while helping her into the carriage, he took his place on the driver seat, flicked the reins and headed for the train station.

* *******

"Sirs," Tennyson entered asking, "The Stationmaster is inquiring to about our departure."

Gordon replied while straightening out the lapel of his smoking jacket, "As soon as Dr. Welling joins us."

"Within the hour." West added as he fastened the hook of his ascot.

"Just in time for dinner." Tennyson joyfully pointed out. He had always welcomed the opportunity to serve new visitors, but he also wanted to impart the importance of having the table free from their maps, magnifying glasses, and pencils by the time dinner is to be served.

Gordon was already within the maps while West made his way to the table as he finished buttoning his vest, "Where do we start?"

"Presently," Artie spun the map around so Jim could see, "the only town connected to the railroad is Trapper's Bend, of where two of the letters came from," he continued, tracing the route with a pencil, "Twenty miles south and two miles off the rail-line south-east is the town of Pleasanton, one letter sent."

West picked it up from there, "Eighteen miles south-west of Trapper's Bend is Coopersville, possible location."

"And last but not least," Artie interjected, "Briggsby, twelve miles south of Coopersville and fifteen miles to the west of Pleasanton," looking up from the map, "also a possible location."

There was a knock at the door and since Tennyson had exited to the galley to prepare dinner West took it upon himself to answer. To his amazement, a ravishing but befuddled lady was on the other side, doing her best to maintain her belongings.

"Mister West? … Gordon?" she inquired.

Jim answered and attempted to relieve her from the burden of her things, "James West and you are?"

"Dr. Welling, San Francisco Entomological Society, I was told to report here on the request of Colonel Richmond." She responded.

"Please come in," West stepped from the doorway, "This is my associate, Artemus Gordon."

From Mr. West' reaction, evidenced by the elated expression on Mr. West' face, Dr. Welling knew all too well what was coming next, the undignified reaction that a female would hold such a position.

As she entered the cabin Gordon let out a drawn, "Well…"

"Mr. Gordon, I assume you are Mr. Gordon," Dr. Welling started to address Artie's reaction.

"Please, call me Artemus," he jumped in, an ingratiating smile spilled across his face.

"Mr. Gordon," she had angrily passed off her entire load to West and now was well into the car, "if you wanted a flighty showgirl you are in for a rude awakening," she pushed her glasses further upon her nose, "I am here strictly on business and that does not include being looked upon in a manner that does not acknowledge my intelligence or importance."

Artemus deflated and what was originally behind his smile disappeared, what did remain was only a mask of the excitement that was there just the moment before.

Jim, setting the doctor's belongings on the couch, intervened, "It has been a bizarre three days for Artie and I, Doctor," he escorted her up to the table, "believe me the last thing we want to do is offend you."

Artie added, "We really do need your help."

Dr. Welling was silent for a moment and could not help but to lose her animosity when she looked into their puppy-dog eyes. And as the gentlemen recounted their tale, her frustration and anger slowly was replaced with curiosity and intrigue.

The crew of the Wanderer had the engine to full steam and ready for departure; Tennyson sounded the whistle twice to alert the passengers of the train's start and then returned to the kitchen to finish dinner. The wheels spun frantically on the rails, short, deliberate bursts until they gripped the steel underneath them and from within clouds of steam they departed the station taking Dr. Tabitha Welling on an adventure she would never forget.

**8**

The Wanderer pressed on southward, the small breakwater town of Trapper's Bend its destination; the wheels pounded a monolithic tune upon the rails that gradually pulsed throughout the train and its cabins. All of its passengers were in the last car; Tennyson was in the kitchen preparing the evening's dinner with some difficulty, due to the occasional shift and bump of the car, Tennyson would combat against the occasional spillage; James West, Dr. Welling, and Artemus Gordon was in the rear compartment; the trio continued brainstorming on the best way to handle this new and unusual weapon.

"From your story it sounds as if something had been used to not only to attract the insects but to also enrage them to the point of attacking," Dr. Welling stated, placing her delicate fingers to her lips.

"Not only attacking," said West, "but furiously, viciously, and endlessly."

"Instinctually they would go on the offensive only to protect or defend their hive and their community," she sat back in her chair, her flawless skin seemed to shimmer by the light of the sconces as she continued, "Something has been introduced to the bees that overrides their normal instincts, amazing."

Gordon and West thought so to, but not entirely on the same subject; both men noticed the doctor's repressed beauty slowly pushing through her protective barrier. She seemed to grow evermore comfortable the deeper she slipped into her world of insects.

"Doctor, is there anything you could think of that could do this?" Artie asked.

She drifted back to the edge of the table, "There have been some theories that communication between some genus consists of instinctual mapping," she saw the men's empty expressions, "that behavior is handed from one generation to another," she paused momentarily, "another theory is that group or communal behavior, such as you witnessed, is chemical."

West and Gordon exchanged glances as Dr. Welling continued, "That could explain the sustained, prolonged attack…"

Tennyson entered the room with the table settings and cleared his throat, announcing, "Dinner shall be served in ten minutes."

West and Gordon began to clear the table of their notes when the telegraph sprang to life, sliding from its hidden compartment.

West handed off his notes to Artie and headed over to the desk and after tapping out an acknowledgement, he took a seat, gathered a pad and pencil and deciphered the next series of clicks. Once finished he returned the telegraph, went to the fireplace and activated a switch under the mantle and slowly it detached from the wall, coming to a rest in front of West. Dr. Welling couldn't help but watch as two table legs fell into place for its support and affixed to the tabletop was a box with gears and sprockets that started to whir and purr. To the right of the box was one of those new mechanisms she had seen before. A typewriter except that this one was different, wiring ran from the box to the typewriter and there were levers and cogs where the finger keys normally sat.

Artemus, while setting the table leaned over the astonished doctor, "It's called a Telefile," he caught her attention and continued to explain while working on the dining table, "A message is received via telegraph to that box to Jim's left, which creates a scroll with various sized punches in it," he sat next to her and started to use a fork to diagram the machine, "From there the scroll feeds into that typewriter looking thing, each hole in the parchment represents a letter in which tiny fingers run across the holes activating the typewriter and in turn types out a readable file." Smiling he added, "Hence the name Telefile."

Just as Artie had finished his description the box roared to life, the levers and gears started moving to and fro, the arms of the typewriter began flaying about, pounding out the message on a sheet of paper that gradually emerged from the top of the machine.

Tennyson appeared from the kitchen with the first course, a freshly made salad consisting of romaine lettuce, spinach, and dandelion leaves, a small dollop of his special sour cream dressing adorned the plate. Shortly he presented a fresh loaf of bread, presliced, and a bottle of red wine and proceeded to fill his guests glasses, Dr. Welling first.

She replied after her glass was filled, "Our taxes at work?"

"Trust me Doctor, Jim and I would trade all this in if there wasn't a need for what we do." Artie offered his glass to toast hers.

Jim sat across from Artemus and placed his napkin in his lap, "That file will take some time to print," noticing the doctors and Arties toast he asked, "Did I miss something?"

Artie turned to Jim, "We were toasting to the day when all is great in the world."

"Here, here," West raised his glass in agreement.

**********

Dr. Welling was becoming more and more impressed with West and Gordon, after what they had experienced both men retained their humor and was quite charming. West, bright eyed and pleasing to the eye, had an air of danger about him, yet she felt completely safe with him. Gordon, a silver tongued captivator, his tone and mannerisms was very calming and enduring. She felt something that she had never felt before, but she could not define it. Dr. Welling couldn't believe that only hours ago she was having one of her usually disappointing days and now she was traveling across the country in a private train, dining on a wonderful pheasant dinner, with two surprising and stimulating companions.

West left the table to gather the telefile and return the equipment as Tennyson brought dessert; a scrumptious pecan pie a la mode, coupled with freshly roasted coffee.

He returned to his chair and neatly shuffled the paper into place, took a bite of pie and a sip of his coffee before getting into the documents.

Jim quietly skimmed over the identifying information and passed along the sheets to Artemus when he was through. Within the papers and words, Jim relived some of the Civil War operations he and Scranton had shared, he discovered that the Major was assigned to evaluate some discrepancies within the Bureau of Indian Affairs after the war and that he had played a significant role in settling some land rights issues between a colony of settlers and a tribe of Shoshone Indians. The outcome was not well received as Scranton had sided with the Shoshone and the vast farmland in question was returned to the Indians. He remained with the Bureau of Indian Affairs for another two years, then had transferred to Fort Benson in New Orleans until he retired his commission.

Artie had slid his chair closer to Dr. Welling, both intensely pouring over the files. West' heart skipped a beat as he came across the location of Scranton's wedding, "Artie," Jim read aloud from the file, "Married once, in Coopersville, Nevada."

"Very encouraging," Artie responded.

West pointed out the town on the map and explained its significance to Dr. Welling. The secret bookcase on the desk shifted and the false book-spines swung open, the telegraph slid out, rattling away. Gordon sprang from his seat, already translating the Morse code in his head and using the notepad that Jim had used earlier, began writing the message where his mind had left off. West had gathered some of the message, a habit that he acquired, subconsciously over the years, he raised his head when he realized the importance of the wire.

Gordon tapped off an acknowledgement and returned the device to its secret dwelling. He brought the pad with him; not truly believing what he had written, " 'From Colonel Richmond – Investigate recent incident at Coyote Creek, Nevada – 36th Army Platoon dispatched to Shoshone Indian Village,'" There's another word that made West' heart skip for a second time, 'Shoshone', he let Artemus read on, " 'From last count, fifty-six dead from unusual circumstances – god speed boys."

"I'll speak with the Engineer regarding our current location," West announced and disappeared from the cabin, heading to the front of the train.

I'll ready the horses," Gordon called out behind Jim.

"What's going on?" Dr. Welling, unsettled by the sudden commotion, inquired.

Without a word, Artemus spun the map around for her to see. She adjusted her glasses trying to focus on where his finger came to rest. Dr. Welling recognized the implication of the message for just below Gordon's finger lay 'Coyote Creek', it was north of and on the way to their current destination, Trapper's Bend.


	3. Chapter 3

**9**

The stagecoach driver was relieved when he reached the town of Briggsby for it was the last stop on his route. He would get a well-deserved rest at the inn for a couple of days then begin the return trip north; stopping at several small towns to gather passengers on their way to Denver and from there, god only knew. What he knew was that his lower back had a steady ache; his ears would ring well into the night with the repetitive sounds of the pounding hooves of horses and the rickety racket of the coach, only to disappear as he drifted further into his slumber. But first he planned a visit to the saloon and let a few slugs of whiskey wash the many miles of dust from his throat.

His last passenger had ridden almost from the stages starting point, but the driver had noticed that the rough and tumble trip had not affected her like it did the other passengers. Usually dolled up ladies would lose their bumpy struggle in keeping their hats and hair in place, and even though the stage is equipped with shades, a fair amount of dust and dirt makes its way into the cabin; transforming the cleanest of passengers into dusty relics of what they once were. The strongest of muscles become worn and tired causing the travelers postures to slump and fall during the prolonged trips cross-country, except for this lady. The driver was amazed; every stop that occurred, she had remained as strong and as fresh as if she had just begun the trip. Not to mention her striking beauty had made this trip one of the fastest that he could remember. It was the anticipation in reaching the various stopping points of the route; the times he would get to see her, help her from the coach, maybe a little small talk. Even though she didn't talk much and at times seemed perturbed with him, he could care less. He figured that she'd visit him in his dreams.

The lamplights flickered within their glass casings; the main street had only a few horses and the glow from some of the hotel's windows was the only evidence of life in the small town. The sounds of whiskey and beer filled glasses cheering in drunken merriment emanated from the saloon as the stage passed on its way to its last stop for the night. With a pull of the reins and a push with his foot on the break, the driver halted the stagecoach and pebbles and dust from his wake floated forward and disappearing in the wind.

Elva Scranton was also relieved about her arrival to Briggsby, but not for the same reasons as the driver; she had become tiresome of the long trip, not for the filthy and uncomfortable accommodations, more for the annoying and exasperating company she had to share the cabin with. Her fellow passengers and especially the driver had worn thin their welcome. They were only a representation of the mindless masses, which they unknowingly had no comprehension of what was to come; the reckoning. The eventual coming of the fate of mankind, death, and those who survive the trials will be worthy enough to live, as slaves, or as they believed the 'chosen few'; the rising.

She barely acknowledged the driver as he helped her from the stage and after that he circled to the rear to unload her luggage. The scruffy driver tried his hardest to capture her attention as he brought around her bags, except her attention was stolen by a small carriage that seemed to slowly appear from the limbo of darkness that surrounded the town. It stopped a few yards ahead of the stagecoach, and its driver, his movements precise and direct, and without a word, left his seat to load Elva's belongings in the trunk. She met him at the back of the carriage, whisking her cape over her shoulders.

"Get a move on," she instructed, "I have important information for the preacher that he needs to hear as soon as possible."

The driver, focused on his task, sped up without hesitation, and as he finished loading, Elva inquired, "What of Coyote Creek?"

The driver settled on the bench next to Elva and with a slight tilt of his head he answered, "The Trial is done."

He snapped the reins and they lurched forward. Elva was concerned about the Preacher's reaction when he hears about West and his partner. She had been cautioned about leaving any loose ties behind and unfortunately two of the 'chosen' were dead and West was still alive. It was very dangerous to have two resourceful men like West and Gordon on your trail. The Preacher will not be happy and a feeling of fear crept its way across her shoulders and slowly trekked throughout her body, as she thought about the consequences.

**********

The diminutive slit of the crescent moon did very little to illuminate the broken town of Eden. A faint purple glow splashed the rooftops and was cut in pieces by the long shadows of the buildings across its gritty thoroughfare that was Main Street. There was no sign of life in the village, everything sat in a stony silence. The sounds of the coming carriage seemed to boom and echo as it made its way from the tree-hidden path into the clearing on the edge of town. It came to a stop in front of the church with a tiny squeak; the bridle and reins clinked as they swung forward and back. The numb driver stepped down and commenced in gathering Elva's bags, she also made her way to the steps of the church; she turned, waiting for her belongings. For the trip back she had pondered, what would be the best way to explain to the Preacher about West still being alive and now she was here, answerless.

Deceptively from the shadows appeared the Preacher; he put his bony hand upon her shoulder and Elva spun around with a gasp.

"It seems that in six months you have forgotten my touch, my love."

"Ezra," she called out his name, "no, no, my darling, you simply startled me, that's all." She was trying so hard to hide her fright that she almost forgot to kiss him.

She flung her arms over his shoulders and proceeded to caress him.

He asked her about Scranton when they parted.

"It went better than we had planned," she squeezed him and went on, "he didn't detect it and didn't realize that I had applied it to his face." Bright-eyed she added, "He even stepped out to the open, sealing his fate."

A wide grin flashed over his face, "So the thief is finally dead."

"And I heard of our success at Coyote Creek," she gloated.

"The solution worked exactly as I planned," he elaborated, "The mixture was heavy enough to hang in the air and engulfed the entire village."

"Ezra?" She was hesitant to tell him about West and Gordon but realized that she had to, "Scranton had contacted a friend in the Secret Service and he witnessed the Scranton 'trial'."

His grin slightly deflated as Elva recounted the events, how she had to implement the 'trial' sooner than she had planned, how West and Gordon escaped the fiery death trap that left two of the 'chosen' dead, and she suspected that they were on her trail.

Ezra contemplated the situation for a bit as Elva watched, grateful that he was not angry with her. The faint moonlight made his grayish skin glow and the wrinkles about his face darkened, "It looks as if two more 'trials' are in order."

**10**

The early bustle that had exploded over the Shoshone Indian village entailed soldiers from the 36th Army Platoon cording the area, looking for survivors and gathering the deceased from the outskirts. Others were digging and filling graves at a furious rate, all brandished their scarves over their mouths to ward off the stench of death and/or any infectious agents they thought that could have caused this tragedy. Luckily a high wind blew across the land, dispersing some of the odor into space.

James West and his party, which included Dr. Tabitha Welling; Entomologist, and Artemus Gordon, snaked their way through the chaos towards the tent of the Commander-in-charge.

They had left the train side-railed and before the sun had started to rise, traveled the twenty-six miles, by horseback, to the village. The Doctor was brought along to possibly find clues to what the agents was dealing with.

She had never witnessed anything close to what she was gazing upon today. The Villagers bloated and disfigured bodies littered the ground, posed in surreal throes, with looks of terror frozen upon their faces.

Dr. Welling, now in her research clothes; her delightfully snug pants had the pant legs tucked into high leather boots, her top was a white button-up blouse that revealed her exquisite shape, and a vest with various sized pockets matched her pant color, and was all topped off with a small brimmed hat that kept the sun from her eyes. She stopped and crouched down beside a mother and her child and started to examine the bodies. Jim had continued for the tent not aware that Artie had joined her.

Artemus could sense the Doctor's sorrow when he knelt down beside her, he offered, "Maybe we should continue…"

"Mr. Gordon you need not be concerned with my well-being," she sternly stated, "I am a professional," the more she took in the harder it was to remain stern, "I am simply investigating…" the bite had left her tone, "…Artemus …Why …Who could do this to another person?" A tear spilled from the corner of her eye.

Artie tried to find the words, "Frequently James and I find out the reasons behind such calousness and more times than not, we fail to fully understand - why," his gaze fixed on the deceased woman and child in front of them, "I guarantee you we will find the monster behind this."

Tabitha didn't know if he was speaking to her or the silent mother and child that lay before them.

**********

West was about to announce his presence when the tent flaps opened and out popped the commanding officer, West raised a hand to stop him from passing and it landed upon the officer's chest, "Captain?"

The Captain glanced at West' hand upon his person, "And you are?" With bitterness he asked.

"I'm James West," he presented his identification, "… and that is my partner, Artemus Gordon and Dr. Welling." He said motioning in their direction.

"I am Captain Dupree," he stonily stated, "kindly remove your hand from my person, son." The Captain was right, he was twenty years older. Only when West accepted that he had the commander's attention, drop his hand.

"I had been informed of your coming by Colonel Richmond, how is it I can help you?"

"First of all, was there any clue to what it was that did this?" They started to trek through the havoc.

The Captain answered, "No, but a survivor described a bluish, heavy mist, that he encountered when he came out into the open."

" 'A' survivor?" West questioned.

The Captain stopped to turn and face West, "The survivor is no longer," he waved to the medical tents and continued, "he died minutes after we arrived.' My men are so terrified that this is some sort of disease they could catch."

"No," West said, "someone did this."

The Captain took West on the gruesome tour while they continued their discussion.

"Sixty-eight casualties," Dupree stated.

West had noticed the shallow mass graves and before he asked, he reminded the Captain of who they were, "Men, women, and children,' 'don't you think they deserve a decent burial?"

"Mr. West," Captain Dupree listlessly attempted to explain, "we have very little time and the sun will be at its hottest point before you know it…"

"You know Captain, I understand your predicament," West faced him, "but I have very little sympathy for it."

Dupree's jaw tightened and before he could respond, West coldly ordered, "Each person shall receive their own grave, at a decent depth, with a grave marker."

"Sachs!" Dupree called above the clatter.

Twenty yards away a soldier straightened, pulled his bandana from his face, perched his shovel over his shoulder, and started over to West and Dupree.

"Sir." The young man was towering head and shoulders above West. Dirt and sweat rested upon his shirtless body and accentuated his muscled-bulked physique. It was obvious that the Captain did not like being ordered around.

" 'You' tell Corporal Sachs that he has to toil in the blistering sun, hauling about and burying rotting Indians," Dupree challenged.

Without a word he turned to the giant and looked into his eyes. Sachs glared back at him. West turned his back on Sachs and glancing over his shoulder, ordered, "Every person shall receive…"

Sachs' intimidating frown turned into a heated scowl and his shovel fell to the ground as he went to shove West from behind.

West spun, propelling his elbow from in front of him in a high arc, landing it square on the large soldiers face. There was a loud crack that broke through the sounds of the workers. Sachs nose blossomed red as it bled from being smashed in, his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell backward, creating a cloud of dust as his massive body flopped, unconsciously to the ground.

Knowing the hulking Sachs was not going to get up, West didn't bother looking back and he addressed the Captain, " 'You' heard me the first time."

"I see we had to 'clarify' some things," Artemus and Tabitha had joined them.

"Artie this is Captain Dupree," introduced West, "and he has just agreed to give every one of these people a decent and proper burial."

Artemus stepped over the fallen Corporal and had already deduced what had just occurred, added, "That is very generous of you Captain, and they wonder where all the honorable men are," he winked at Tabitha.

Dr. Welling and Artie had gathered some samples and were eager to examine their clues in the Wanderer's laboratory.

They started to leave the site and Jim left a thinly veiled threat to let the Captain know that he meant business, "We'll have to come back here soon and give our last respects."

**11**

Dr. Welling was occupied in the laboratory with the insect samples she and Gordon had collected at the Shoshone Indian village while Artemus was introducing James to some new weaponry in the dining car.

"Jim," he held three throwing knives, "I've upgraded these to serve different purposes," Artie touched on every one, "The red-handled one has a highly concentrated explosive within its handle, all you need to do is turn the handle until you feel it lock in place, this aligns the detonator charge to the explosive and when the blade strikes its target the explosive is detonated."

He placed the red handled knife down and grabbed the other two, "I modified these knives to dispense a poisonous cloud, instead of exploding," he again demonstrated, "these green-handled knives work on the same principle, twisting the handle sets the charge and upon contact a patch of poison is dispersed in an area of roughly ten square feet.' Hopefully killing any insects that are exposed."

"Only insects?" asked West.

"You do not want to breathe any of this in, James." Gordon warned and gathered the knives and placed them next to West' gun belt and jacket, "I had another secret pocket added to the inside of your jacket and one put on the leg-side of your holster."

"You've outdone yourself, Artie", Jim complemented.

"Actually Dr. Welling looked through our lab and with our chemicals, created the insect poison."

"I hope it works."

"If it doesn't," Artie said devilishly, "let me know and I'll replace it."

Tennyson entered the car and announced, "Thirty minutes and we shall be at Trapper's Bend, sirs."

"Thank you Tennyson," West replied and began loading the knives into their secret pockets.

"Also, Dr. Welling wondered if you could join her in the laboratory," added Tennyson before he departed.

"I'm right behind you," West said putting on his jacket as Artie started to head back to the lab.

West checked his Colt .45 to see if it needed to be loaded, then slipped the revolver into its holster and put on his belt. He then held out his right arm and activated the release switch of his sleeve-gun, it effortlessly appeared in his hand. Replacing it he moved on to the under-side of his lapel, which held a picklock. And after his self-inspection he grabbed his hat and headed back to meet his colleagues in the next car.

**********

Dr. Welling was speaking to Artie when West entered the room, "I have never experienced anything like this before,"

"Like what," Jim was trying to catch up.

"Whatever it is causing this aggression, but I am fully confident that this is a chemical agent that we are dealing with."

"And," Jim asked.

"And, this formula has effecting properties that encompass multiple species, hence the wide variety of insects involved at each of the encounters, " she elaborated, "Each species has their own distinct series of chemicals that tell the insect how to react to a certain situation.' A chemical that a wasp would react to would not have the same effect on an ant."

"Until now," West somberly added.

Artemus spoke up, "So all we really know is that this agent affects a wide variety of insects and can be distributed manually or in a gaseous form."

"I wish I could tell you more," she concluded.

Jim drew in a breath, "With the mass murder that recently happened to the Shoshone, I'm afraid that we don't have the time to examine this any further," he turned to Artie, "Artemus you see what you can dig up in Trapper's Bend and from there take the Wanderer down to Pleasanton and do some investigating there.' I'll check out Coopersville and we'll converge in Briggsby."

Artie motioned with his hands, "And if we don't meet in Briggsby, we'll backtrack the others route."

West agreed and started for the door but was stopped short by Dr. Welling, "What about me?"

Both men exchanged glances.

"I think I could be very useful and my expertise will come in handy," she stated more than she asked.

"She could be used as a cover," Gordon replied, "whomever we are dealing with are expecting two men…"

West didn't like where this was going, "Artemus, I don't think…"

"I want to help, Jim," she sat down the samples as she started toward him, "I'm not going to benefit anyone sitting around here," her face saddened, "I need to do my part, for those poor people from the village."

He looked into her eyes for a moment and could not deny the resolve that resonated within them; West took a quarter from his pocket, flipped it in the air and asked her, "Heads or tails?"

**12**

West and Welling rode out of the small but surprisingly busy town of Trapper's Bend. Citizens waded through the streets as merchants swept and tidied their shops, children played, rolling barrel hoops along the main strip, occasionally receiving a reprimand from the older residents for crossing too close to someone's path. The afternoon sun caused folks to find a shady respite under the eves and overhangs of the buildings. A gentle wind brought lone tumbleweed, here and there, bouncing into town.

Trapper's Bend balanced on the edges of both the desert and the forest, which made it a well-known stopover for westbound pilgrims, for some of which, had stayed and helped to gradually shape the town into an open and friendly settlement. Its' name came about when the early settlers traded pelts and goods with the various Indian tribes that dotted the region, and when the railroad decided to include the town on its route, it had grown and prospered even more.

Artie had donned the disguise of a Shoshone Indian, despite Jim's qualms about being such an open target, and departed the train a few miles from town, making his way in by horse. Artemus had noted Jim's fears and assured his friend that he was well equipped for the task. Under his leather tunic, stitched along the vital areas was body armor; heavy enough to deflect a knife or small caliber ballistics, within his wrap was two quick-change costumes and his disguise kit, hidden on his person was two poison gas grenades and a derringer holstered on his inside left ankle.

Gordon was disappointed with the outcome of the coin toss because he had found Dr. Welling to be an enthralling companion and he couldn't help wanting to spend more time with her. He wondered if he and Jim had made the right decision in letting her take part in this mission, it was unlike any they had experienced before. He felt a tinge of regret creeping to the surface and he silently wished them luck.

As he reached the outskirts of town Artie replayed his plan in his head, to be seen by as many people as possible in hope of drawing out the killer and if not, gather as much information as possible then meet the Wanderer-stationed beyond the town- and head for Pleasanton, re-starting the process there.

Artie didn't seem to garner much attention riding down the main street and he figured that the surrounding tribes had frequented the town for years and also the news of the decimation might not have reached here yet. He made his way to the end of the strip, noting the spots he wanted to hit on his way back; the places that had the most individuals congregating, the general store, saloon, hotel, and trading post.

At the trading post he made a few dollars from some beaver pelts he had brought with him. He stopped in front of the hotel and let his horse rest to drink at the troth, and while grooming his horse he indiscriminately searched for any suspicious characters, including the elusive Elva Scranton. Next door was the saloon and he positioned himself at the end of the bar, nearest to the windows and entrance, and with finally convincing the bartender to serve him, had a beer. He spent another hour at the bar with two more drinks and with a slightly intoxicated shuffle, acted out perfectly; he exited, gathered his horse and went to the general store. The store owner wasn't too thrilled when the drunken Indian stepped through his door, but he kept his feelings to himself as the Indian bought some deer jerky and left without incident. Artie leaned against a storefront post; eating his jerky he again scanned the populace. He began to feel that he was the only unusual character around. After finishing his jerky, Gordon decided to beat the bushes in Pleasanton and mounted his horse heading south and out of Trapper's Bend.

Unbeknownst to him was the three emotionless men following on horseback.

**13**

West had laid out the ground rules for Dr. Welling before they had left the Wanderer and made it extremely clear to the young doctor that she do what he said, when he said it. She realized the importance and how dangerous the situation was, but she was not the kind of person that took orders very well and his instructions disturbed her somewhat. After all she had not forged her life on being directed by others. Her father a successful businessman from the east, had died in a hunting accident when she was very young and her mother instilled a firm self-reliance and drive to become whoever and to do whatever she wanted. So after finishing school Tabitha crossed the country and ended up at the Territorial College in California, there she had become fascinated with the structural and social behaviors of insects, earning her degree in Entomology. Quickly she jumped on an opportunity to become one of the researchers at the esteemed San Francisco Entomological Society. Not that any of her accomplishments had come easily; it was difficult to break through the gender barriers that existed everywhere. Not only did she experience those prejudices from her male professors and colleagues but to her surprise, persons within her own gender. She always dismissed the inherited ignorance of her fellow sisters although she never truly understood it.

And as for relationships, she had never come across anyone that had interested her physically and notably, intellectually; men had always been intimidated by her steadfast viewpoint on equality and her ability to hold her own academically and emotionally. Until yesterday, that is. Not only did she encounter one incredible man, but two, and it disturbed her immensely. The thing of it was that of all the men she had come in contact with in the past, none had stirred so many feelings inside her as these two gentlemen. Yes, in her circles there were very smart and engaging men but she never met one whose ego would be able to handle her lifestyle or her personality.

Each man had an incredible aura around him, both are cultured and gracious, but she deduced, had come from vastly different backgrounds. Artemus had a caring and a refined air about him and she was drawn to his intelligence and eccentricity. He possessed a warm and trusting smile and those attributes was evident behind his sincere eyes. She had seen his resolve in how he interacted with his fellow man; living and dead. Tabitha was deeply impressed.

Jim had a mannerism that he could not be stopped, it showed in the way he carried himself and in the reverberation of his voice. A ruggedly handsome exterior housed a determined and unwavering soul. Precise and intense one minute, the next minute he could be concerned and receptive. She was finding herself wanting to get closer and closer to him.

Dr. Tabitha Welling was content about the coin toss and that something other than her had made the decision, of whom she would partner with, because she knew that was a choice she could not have made.

The leaves and branches of the forest cut the hot afternoon sun and was making their ride to Coopersville an enjoyable one. Heading into the breeze kept both riders fresh, enabling them to disregard fatigue and without stopping, reach their destination in good time.

The undergrowth started to thin when the riders touched the outskirts of Coopersville, which sat inside a small valley. West came to a stop and Dr. Welling brought her horse alongside.

The town was picturesque, nestled comfortably by the surrounding forest; the tops of its buildings dotted the landscape and the vibrant colors of the structures splashed against the rich greens of the vegetation.

"It should be a painting," commented Tabitha as another slight gust of wind brushed over her.

Jim felt a wave of want as the breeze touched her the way he wanted to, he replied, "I agree."

The Doctor blushed when she realized that he had not removed his gaze from her while making his comment.

The pair weaved a path from their perch and through the town, ending at the church from where Scranton had married his murderer, Elva.

Dismounting and tethering their horses, Tabitha voiced concern, "James, it's strange…' I've never been this afraid before."

"Well," he circled his horse, leaning on its hindquarters, "You've never seen the things you've seen, before."

He placed his hands on her shoulders, "If anything, we'll discover Elva Scranton's maiden name from the church records.' From that information, hopefully we'll find a clue to her whereabouts."

His words calmed her and they headed for the door as a flock of birds flew overhead, the sounds of the town entered the church along with West and Dr. Welling.

Light blazed through the stained glass windows, illuminating the aisle as they made their way to the altar; the reverend was thumbing through the good book.

West had his identification out as he approached him, "Pardon me, Reverend," he continued, "My name is James West from the United States Secret Service and this is Dr. Welling from the San Francisco Entomological Society."

The Reverend came around the podium and West went to hand over his identification.

Tabitha looked about, wondering why it was so bright inside, she took a closer look at the windows and saw that pieces of the windows were missing.

As the Reverend had not said a word and was busily studying the card that West had given him, Jim decided to pick up where he left off, "We are on the trail of a murderer and we believe she had been married here in your church, if we could…"

Tabitha's discovery triggered alarm and she interrupted, grabbing West's arm, "Jim…"

But before she could warn him, the Reverend had raised his hand, spraying the blue mist directly in West's face. Jim jumped back, temporarily blinded and wiping his face frantically with his hands. Two other men sprang from the rectory grabbed Tabitha, spraying her as well. West rushed to aid her but the three men had already left, closing and barring the church doors behind them.

Both West and Tabitha spotted spiders and ants hurriedly making their way across the floor and over the pews towards them, and from the broken windows came the sound West had heard days before, back when a swarm of bees and hornets had overcome his friend, Miles Scranton. The furious beating of thousands of wings made his extremities grow cold and he knew that they had been exposed and death was only seconds away.


	4. Chapter 4

**14**

James West's mind raced for an answer, his senses overloaded; the droning buzz of the approaching insects broke his concentration, creeping prickles ran across his skin and he didn't know if he was being invaded by the ants and spiders or if it was fear and panic, he heard a pop behind his right ear, followed an instant later by searing pain, it had begun.

Tabitha screamed as the insects had reached her also, and pure terror started to wash over James West as he knew he couldn't kick, punch, or gun down this threat.

More and more insects filled the windows, funneling in through the missing pieces of glass and staking their claim on the helpless man and woman. Tabitha's squeals became worse and bore into West's core like a red hot knife into his soul, rage began to replace his terror as he now felt the hand of death that his friend and an innocent Indian village had felt, "Keep your mouth shut," he instructed Tabitha as he drew her near. Their faces started to disappear as more and more insects landed on them. Instinctively he grabbed one of the poison gas-knives from the secret pocket lined in the back of his jacket, "Get a breath of air," he yelled, with the mayhem around them he prayed that she had heard him, twisting the handle he activated the detonator and threw it into the floor at their feet. With a loud explosion, a cloud of green gas enveloped them but West couldn't see how it was affecting the insects outside of the deadly bubble, he knew he and Tabitha could not stay there and that they needed to wash the agent from their skin. He removed the other green knife from his jacket and repeated what he had done with the first, another cloud filled the space and West thought that the buzzing was growing fainter. From under his holster he retrieved the red-handled knife and with a twist to set the charge, he closed his eyes and tried to picture how far the doors were and pushed by desperation he let the blade fly.

**********

Outside people had started to gather, disbelieving what they were seeing and hearing; the sky had filled with bees and had advanced on their church, three men had quickly exited, sealed the doors and rode out of town, then the screams from within the building had caused the good community of Coopersville to wonder, just what ungodly event were they witnessing.

Just as they started towards the church, the doors splintered into the air with a tremendous boom, sending wooden debris into the crowd, James West with Dr. Welling in his arms emerged from the entrance pulling a green cloud mixed with soot and dust behind them. Remembering that a water pump was just a few yards from the church, Jim raced to it, placed her upon the ground and began working the handle, washing her neck and face; removing living and dead insects from her reddened and inflamed skin, grime, poison, and most importantly, the agent that had started the horrendous encounter.

Townspeople had descended on the couple and as Jim tended to Tabitha, they tended to him, taking his cue; they washed him down until there were no insects at all.

**********

West paced his hotel room, wringing his hands, concerned for Tabitha's wellbeing. She was in an adjoining suite with the town doctor tending to her insect stings. Their washed clothing was drying on the banister outside the window and Jim was wearing some trousers, lent to him by the towns Marshall. Jim could kick himself for letting this happen, the Indian village massacre and his friends death by the same means, that he himself had witnessed, should have told him that she should not have been put into the path of danger. He felt like destroying the room; shatter every window, smash all the furniture, scream until he couldn't any longer.

His jowls, ears, and hands all pulsed in burning pain. He was nauseas and could not eat; he didn't know if it was the affect of the insect venom or if it was his bitterness and loathing. His dinner sat cold on the table.

There was a knock from the adjoining room's door, it was the Doctor, and they spoke softly as West let him enter.

"She's going to need some rest," he showed Jim an empty bottle, "I used a whole jar of ointment, afraid there's not enough for you, young man."

"That's not important," West shook his head and motioned to the next room, "How is she?"

The old and scruffy doctor shuffled further into the room, "Most of the stings are on her wrists and hands, she must have kept them covering her face." West let him continue, "She'll have some minimal scarring and I gave her an injection of morphine for the pain," he started rifling through his bag, "you're next."

"No thanks, doc, I need to remain focused."

"Well, she should be herself in a few days," he placed his hat upon his head and headed for the door to leave, "Darndest thing, those hornets attacking you two like that."

"I should have seen it coming," West muttered as he led the doctor out.

He advanced to the dresser, looked in the mirror and addressed himself, "You should have known."

A knock at the door made West pull away from his reflection, he stopped off at his bed to retrieve his Colt before answering. Pulling back the hammer of his gun, he opened the door a slit. It was Marshall Rogers and Jim stepped aside to let him in.

"Well Mister West, I found Reverend Thomas dead in the work shed behind the church,' All of the church records was strewn in his office, I couldn't find the one you were looking for."

"They must've taken it," West deduced.

"I can assure you that none of the folks around here did this," he adamantly proclaimed, looking at the revolver in Jim's hand.

"Then who did?" West sarcastically threw at the lawman, not expecting an answer as he replaced the hammer of his gun and tossed it upon the bed.

"There is a community three miles south of Briggsby."

West faced the Marshall, "Pardon me?"

Marshall Rogers explained, "Three miles south of Briggsby is a small town that named itself 'Eden', strange stories been coming out of there since its beginning," he leaned back on the door, "The people don't speak much, kinda weird acting, like their not there if you know what I mean."

"How do you know so much about this community?" West quizzed.

The Marshall handed him a glass jar, "Because all the towns in the area see them about once a month, they make their living selling and trading goods for these." He pointed at the jar in Jim's swollen hands.

The jar had a label that wrapped around it, across the top in bold, black letters read: Eden's Premium Honey. The top and bottom edges had drawings of bees; one line heading one way and the opposite way on the other, in the middle was an intricately etched portrait of a smiling Elva Scranton.

**15**

It was approaching mid-afternoon as the Wanderer pounded the rails on its way to Pleasanton, a trail of black smoke, dissipating into the sky as the train rumbled through the countryside. Artemus Gordon had decided to abandon his Indian disguise and was in the lounge mulling over if he should don another character and if so, who should it be. He was also unsure of the counter-measures he and Dr. Welling had created; Artie, thinking back to the Shoshone village and the effectiveness of the weapon, was wishing that he had something more tangible to combat the insects. He had some equipment that he deemed necessary for the case laid out on the table. Two poison gas-grenades, his ankle holster and derringer, sleeping gas capsule, and his revolver, all was staring him in the face.

He was lost in thought, intently looking at the collection of weapons laid out in front of him. There had to be a counter-measure that he could employ, but what was it, he wondered.

Artemus sat back in his chair and glanced at his pocket watch; Briggsby was about ten minutes away and a puzzled Artemus was too busy wracking his brain to notice shadows moving on the rear deck of the car. The shifting and bumping of the train in transit masked the sounds of the intruders' movements upon the roof, finding the best vantage points to deliver their lethal packages.

Simultaneously, windows crashed from both sides of the cabin as two large canvas bags landed and skidded along the floor. They were loosely secured enabling their contents to pour out, hornets nests, broken in several places, leaked furious, flying insects into the car.

Artemus spun around in shock as the cabin started filling with a black and yellow, sentient whirlpool, darting madly about the room. The alarm sounded and Artie could barely hear it over the deafening drone of the insect's wings. Artemus recognized the chime; a bell tolled if anyone tried to open the doors of the car when the defense systems are activated. Obviously the intruder discovered that he couldn't open the door as one of its panel windows shattered and a canister spraying blue mist was thrown inside, bouncing a few feet in.

The blue fog was being swirled throughout the room, catching rides from the currents made by the rushing air from the windows, Artemus was almost frozen in amazement at how the mist was taken into the wind and carried by the swarm. He bolted for the hallway that led to the front of the car, the raging hornets close behind, Artie reached the sliding compartment door and flipped the secret switch to unlock it. The first of the hornets found his flesh, their stingers repeatedly assaulted his skin, Artie found the door to be jammed from the outside and a wave of panic washed over him, knowing that the door was fixed in place on purpose.

Pulling his jacket over his head, Gordon raced back down the hallway and burst into the first room he could find, some trinkets, framed photographs, and a red box fell onto the floor as Artie slammed the door behind him. Brushing away and killing the insects he had brought with him, Artemus realized that instead of the laboratory where he wanted to be he had entered Jim's quarters instead.

"Thank God James is trusting," he thought out loud, referring to the unlocked door and he slumped further onto the floor. His heart was racing and where he had been stung on his neck and forehead, was burning. He hoped that by the time the train reached Briggsby that most of the insects would be gone, sucked from the vacuum created by the speeding trains broken windows, but just in case, he needed a way out. He noticed the red box lying beside him, its' decorative bow peeking out from under the open lid and a small card was next to it. Picking up the card he read aloud, "Cassandra, for when we met again, James." He held up the gift, a delicate, white-laced camisole hung from Gordon's fingers, his face began to glow as an idea rushed through his mind.

**********

James West had gathered the dry clothes from outside and placed Tabitha's on the dresser where she could find them. Sunset was a couple of hours away and he wanted to infiltrate Eden as soon as it was dark. He got dressed and then he found a pencil and paper in the side table and began to write Tabitha some instructions.

He started with an apology followed by finding Artemus in Briggsby and having him escort her to the train. Tennyson would take care of her until his return. West folded the sheet in half and placed it upon her clothing and set her glasses on top. He peeked into her room one last time to check up on her before leaving, she was fast asleep, buried deep within the covers. Her angelic face, untouched from the attack, gave Jim a touch of relief as he left her resting, going off to pursue a monster.

Stopping at the Marshall's office before heading out, Jim asked the Marshall to keep watch over the Doctor and to make sure that she followed the instructions he had given. He then collected his horse from the livery stable and with a lash to his steeds hindquarters James West charged south, his ire growing the closer and closer he got to Eden.

**16**

The west was swallowing the sun and the light began disappearing from the landscape, the already drab buildings of Eden looked even more ominous as darkness slowly overtook the town. James West had been there for over two hours, scrutinizing the routines and actions of the townspeople. There was very little to observe; a person or two made their way about town, always at the turtle's pace he had witnessed by the would be assassin in Coopersville, before he sprang to life launching his foiled attack. Jim had circled the village and to its west was an incredible field, one the likes he had never seen, with rows upon rows of bee boxes, stretching across acres of land; Jim estimated that there was one and a half to two thousand boxes altogether and the thought of being caught there amidst the untold number of bees made him cringe, he made sure that he didn't trip any traps and he had found plenty.

All of the traps he had found consisted of a tripwire set-up and canisters that would explode, emitting what was most assuredly the blue mist to infuriate the winged residents of the orchard. West had deactivated a chosen few along a predetermined escape route so he wouldn't have to worry if he needed to quickly retreat.

From what he could make out, the town had no telegraph office and most of the activity centered on the church. There was no set pattern or times that they would come or go and Jim marked and counted the residents when they did; he had seen the 'reverend' he and Tabitha had encountered in Coopersville, along with twenty other men and thirteen women, but he had not seen Elva among them. The church was the epicenter of a great deal of activity within the town and that was where he would infiltrate at nightfall.

Of the buildings of Eden, the church was the largest, its steeple stretched high into the sky and the main division was wide and covered thirty-five to forty yards, to the rear of the building a house was attached, a tiny stream running north-east to south-west, sat six to seven yards beyond that. Plus it was the only structure kept in good repair, every other structure was falling apart. The vegetation around the town was extremely lush and vibrant, adding to the town's dilapidation and ruin.

As for livestock, a farm sat just on the other side of the stream, separating it from the rest of the town; it consisted of half dozen heifers and a few bulls, a chicken coop, and a dog. Most of the horses were in the stables at the easternmost point of the town. Besides the church, the farm was the most active, regular feedings and tending was given to the livestock, and its abundant fields maintained. There was a rotation of workers between the two sites but without any regard to timing or pattern. Some would remain working on the farm while others would periodically emerge from the church to assist those at the farmstead, then return. West noticed that aside from the farm animals, the surrounding area was void of any birds, chipmunks, or any other wild life.

Well into dusk, James felt confident to start in. He came in from the west, broadside the church, and pulled himself up to one of the windows listening for any activity inside. Not hearing anything, West dropped and headed for the front doors, flattening against the building, he peered around the corner. Some lights flickered from a few windows around the town, but there was no one presently on the street. West stalked to the church entrance and slowly tested the doors; there was a faint creak as the door swung out and West slipped in. Holding for a moment, Jim let his senses acclimate to the inside of the structure, his mind worked on deciphering all he could see, hear, smell, and feel. For a moment he couldn't figure out why he felt that he was not alone in the congregation, then he realized what he was hearing was not human, he adjusted his eyes toward the pitch blackness of the ceiling and his heart skipped a beat when he saw the scope of the hornets nest resting above. From what he could make out, it stretched the length of the structure; it weaved in and out of the crossbeams, and hung its widest from the middle. A stray hornet buzzed here and there, sending electric chills throughout Jim's body. West' previous stings came to life, aching and throbbing, only to harden his resolve and to press on.

West slowly hugged the wall, proceeding to the head of the church he had made it halfway there when the floor of the altar began to rise. He could make out three sets of footsteps as they walked by the pew West had slid under; he heard the creak of the door and the slam as it closed. He peered under the rows of pews along the floor, just catching sight of the altar floor as it lowered shut. Emerging from his hiding place, West went to examine the secret door, skimming the seams, searching for a way in. Suddenly it opened, Jim spun around the door, using it as cover, he waited as two more people came out, and as they headed for the rear of the church, Jim glanced inside. All he could see was a set of stairs coming to an end on a dirt floor, bathed by flickering torchlight.

West silently and unflinchingly descended into the cavern as the floor kicked into gear and started to fall. Jim watched as the trick door closed and latched shut, he withdrew his revolver and started down the rocky hall. He was no more than twelve feet in when he recognized the odor lofting towards him, not as strong as the application, but it was the blue mist nonetheless. Sounds of production echoed off the walls, pistons and the metallic grinding of gears. The coolness of the fissure gradually warmed to the point that Jim began to perspire and he removed his hat to wipe his brow with his forearm. He reached the end of the tunnel and cautiously looked in.

From the catwalk he saw a row of vats lining the middle of the spacious cave, each vat contained boiling liquids that gradually changed color from vat to vat along its route, ending in the last vat the dark blue shade of the mist. People approached the giant kettles and added ingredients only to gather more and zombie-like, repeat the process again. Others fed coal to furnaces, heating boilers attached to the vats at a sluggish but unbroken pace.

The stairs leading to the production floor was well lit and West had to find another way down, he spied on the other side of the catwalk a series of ropes and chains, obviously used to haul the finished product to the surface. He stealthily clung to the shadows, finding his way to the other side and using one of the ropes, climbed into the pit. When he reached the floor he noticed the lift system that elevated a platform to somewhere on the surface above. He spied a control panel used to raise and lower the platform using a succession of weights that ran along the walls as the counter balance.

Once on the floor, Jim was able to study the operation more closely while sticking to the crevasses and corners, remaining out of sight. A whistle blew and the vats began to sputter and whine, each one filling the next, and the workers filed up the staircase and out the tunnel from where West came.

With everyone gone Jim was able to move freely in the complex, he studied the large vats and the tables holding the various ingredients. Bowls and jars of different sizes and shapes were on the tables, holding different colored mixtures, mostly in powder form, along with an array of tools; grinding stones, small knives, and sharp probes. Wicker baskets sat on both sides of each table, one held dead insects and the other, parts of insects.

"It is a painstaking process."

Startled, West turned to face the voice.

Ten feet away stood a tall, thin man in black, "Do not be surprised, I know everything that happens in my hive," he slowly stepped toward West, "We was aware of your presence since you entered the tunnel."

"We?" Jim glanced around.

Five men appeared from the shadows, stopping alongside the man in black.

"Normally, you would have been confronted well before now," the tall man ended up in the light, West saw the deep furrows of his face, the sunken eyes, and his worn features, yet he could tell the man was far from vulnerable, "You are, sir?"

"James West," Elva answered while descending the stairs.

"Well," the man in black returned his attention to West, "I have been looking forward in meeting you, Mr. West," the emotionless men began to move towards Jim, the man in black beamed as he continued, "My name is Reverend Ezra Stone, welcome to Eden."


End file.
